Narita Yuzuru was the one waiting for him an hour later when he came out of the principle’s office.
“Takaya...”
“...”
He slammed the door behind him, veritably fuming, and kicked the wall for good measure.
“Those assholes! Goddammit!”
“Takaya!”
He looked completely out of patience, probably as a result of having been preached at for the entire hour. Even at the best of times he was never one to take criticism well; a feral light now glinted in his eyes.
Takaya had been summoned here for the infraction of riding a motorcycle to school.
The school had received a report of the accident from the police, and by this means learned that he was breaking school regulations. Takaya had endured a three-pronged attack from the principle, vice principle, and educational councilor. (The homeroom teacher had also been there, but had simply nodded in agreement to everything said by the others.)
In actuality, it was not without reason that the teachers had their eye on Takaya, a troublemaker who was known for intractability and impertinence and a sometimes defiant, acrimonious attitude towards teachers. And so even before the confrontation there had been mutual hatred between them.
A few days earlier Takaya’s rebelliousness had risen to such levels that it had driven the new homeroom teacher to skip school. He had taken the chance at this meeting, standing next to the other staff, to air out his complaints.
This incident had become the perfect excuse.
“Goddammit, that bunch of old goats! They went over every trivial little detail—I couldn’t stand their babbling! They told me that they were ‘being magnanimous and overlooking this incident’—can you believe that? If they’re selling gratitude so that they can feel good about themselves, I’d rather take the punishment.”
“Takaya, listen.”
“Those bastards think they’re so superior.”
Takaya came to stand next to Yuzuru. He leaned his head back against the window, looking up at the ceiling and sighing deeply.
“I told them that my parents were bad at raising me, and there were problems with my upbringing, and that they should stop treating me like a kid and what not. They told me that I was responsible for my own damn personality, dammit.”
“Did they really tell you that?”
“... Well.” Takaya disgustedly brushed the hair out of his eyes. “They were caught up in the moment and really let loose. They said that a family’s circumstances didn’t matter at all, and even went into the whole ‘that’s why a one-parent household’...blah blah blah.”
“...”
“What the hell does it have to do with them whether I have one parent or two?”
Yuzuru looked over at him anxiously.
“Takaya...”
“...”
Takaya glared steadily out the window, his expression more than usually grim. Yuzuru pulled himself together and said brightly, “Hey, Takaya.”
“?”
Yuzuru turned and held out a gym uniform and shoes to Takaya.
“P.E.’s next—we have volleyball in the gym. You’re not going to have time to change if you don’t hurry.”
“...”
Takaya looked at the uniform, then at Yuzuru. Yuzuru gazed back at him soothingly.
His expression changed just a little.
“Thanks.”
They walked down the corridor together.
“By the way, Yuzuru.”
“Hmm?”
“You haven’t heard of a guy called Chiaki Shuuhei, have you?”
“Eh?”
Yuzuru looked at Takaya, bewildered.
“What about Chiaki?”
(He really does...)
He groaned unthinkingly.
“Ah—... Well... Um...” Takaya scratched his head. “What was... What was Chiaki’s student number again?”
“Chiaki’s student number? Uuum...let’s see. What was it? Hmm, it’s slipped my mind all of a sudden.”
Yuzuru began to grope after the memory.
“I’m fifteen, so...Tomotoshi, Teduka, Tani...huh? It should be ”Chi“, right? That’s after ”Ta". Fourteen, thirteen...maybe twelve?
(Huh?)
Takaya thought it dubious.
Taniguchi, Teduka...
(That’s strange.)
“It must be twelve, but why do you need to know?”
“Ah, it’s nothing...” Takaya shook his head, still caught up in thought.
(Tanaka, Taniguchi, Teduka... After Taniguchi is Teduka. There’s no one between them...)
Strange.
Wasn’t it strange?
“Anyway, Takaya, we only have about two more minutes. Shouldn’t we hurry?”
“Huh. Where’s your uniform?”
“I have a checkup today.” Yuzuru smiled weakly. “I haven’t been feeling well recently, and for some reason I get tired really quickly. My club activities have been busy too, and I can’t really stay home from school, so I’ve been careful and going for these checkups.”
“Hmm...”
Now that Yuzuru had mentioned it, his face did look rather pale, and he seemed somehow listless.
(So he’s feeling unwell...?)
“You haven’t caught something again, have you? Takeda Shingen’s next-in-line...like Kasuga no Tsubone, maybe?”
“Don’t say weird things like that.”
It scared him that Yuzuru couldn’t say for certain what was wrong with him.
“Are you really all right?”
“Yeah. And it’s different this time. It really is just me feeling unwell.”
“Yeah?”
Yuzuru smiled brightly. “Jeez. You’re such a worrywort, Takaya. Come on, hurry up. Higashi’s going to be here soon, and then you’re going to be late again.”
“Argh”, Takaya groaned, and began to descend the stairs.
Though—in the end Takaya didn’t make it in time to roll-call after all.
They were having a volleyball match in the gymnasium today. P.E. was separate for male and female students; four teams were formed, determined previously within the class.
Takaya’s team acted as referees in the first match. Takaya entrusted that task to his teammates and took a seat along the wall. He eyes darted here and there, chasing his classmates as if to confirm their identities.
(I know all of them, their names and their faces.)
Of the four teams, there was not a face he did not know.
With a single exception.
(Chiaki Shuuhei—)
He, too, was there. Participating in the match as if he were really a member of the class. But he was an outsider no matter how much Takaya strained his eyes. Everything else seemed to fade into the background as he focused his attention on that single person, but none of his surrounding classmates seemed to sense anything amiss around Chiaki. They chatted with him as if he just were another friend.
Takaya appeared to be the only one who thought anything was odd.
(Or is it really me who’s got a loose wire somewhere?)
He asked a few people: “Is he really in our class?”
Everyone he asked gave him a uniformly blank look and replied,
“What, is that a new joke?”
Or:
“Did you have a fight with Chiaki or something?”
Or: “You should go home if you have a fever” while feeling Takaya’s forehead.
And there were also those who undertook to give him advice.
In the end, the same reply: What the heck are you talking about?
“He’s been with us since our first year!”
That’s what everybody said.
But Takaya couldn’t remember meeting him in their first year at all. No matter how much he thought about it, he came up with nothing.
If everyone else was right, then Takaya was the one who was off his rocker.
He immediately thought of a cause: the accident that morning. He didn’t remember banging his head when he’d fallen, but it wasn’t like he could recall each and every second of the accident.
But for argument’s sake, even if his memories had been knocked out of him...
(I remember everything else; it’s just that one person that I don’t know at all—is that even possible?)
Only the memories concerning him had slipped clean out of his head.
Takaya’s brows knitted.
(Why is it that I’ve only forgotten Chiaki Shuuhei?)
That was completely unnatural, wasn’t it?
“Hey! Ougi! Did someone say you’re amnesic or something?”
He let his head fall back. It was one of his classmates, Yazaki.
“Who’re are you calling amnesic?”
“That’s what everybody’s saying. You had an accident this morning, right? There really are people who lose their memories because they hit their head. That’s pretty cool, chump.”
“You lookin’ for a beating or something?”
“Hey, hey,” Yazaki said, and took a seat next to Takaya. “So what’s it feel like to be amnesic?”
“If you wanna know, go make yourself into one.”
“We joke about it, but man, tough break. Getting forgotten by one of his best friend like that, that’s the worst. Poor Chiaki.”
Takaya jerked.
“Wh... Best friend? Who the hell are you talking about?!”
“You and Chiaki, of course.”
“Stop shitting me. Why would I be friends with a guy like that?”
Yazaki let out a loud laugh. “Are you guys playing a big joke or something? You’re pretty good.”
“No I’m not! What the hell is that guy?!”
“All right all right, I got it.” Yazaki waved away Takaya’s protests. “So let me tell you one thing, okay? Chiaki’s always competing for first, second place in school. He’s a goddamn prodigy, and we owe the Great God of Miracles Chiaki tons for helping us out. He’s totally popular with the girls, and the teachers love him. So why would a guy like that hang out with someone like you?”
“I told you that wasn’t it!”
“I feel really bad for him for being friends with a cold-hearted bastard like you. It’s just a bit much, you know? Ougi! With a genius like that for a friend you should be a bit more sincere too, okay?”
“Hey, look—”
Smiling goofily, Yazaki clapped Takaya on the shoulder. “That’s about enough for a joke, too. If you’re gonna be this pig-headed, he’s not gonna let you copy his homework tomorrow.”
“Yazakiiii...”
Yazaki seemed convinced that Takaya’s amnesia was a joke.
And also...
Apparently Chiaki was not only Takaya’s classmate, he was Takaya’s best friend too.
(Now my head’s starting to hurt...)
Taniguchi came over.
“Hey, Ougi! We’re playing! The match is on!”
“Hey, Taniguchi.”
“You know, if you’re gonna make all that noise, you should come help referee too. What’s with those bandages? You’re in, right? We’re totally gonna win against Group 2 today, so you’re playing no matter what.”
“I’m injured, though.”
“Whatever. Group 2’s already gathering, so hurry up and get over here.”
Their opponents, the members of Group 2, were already assembled on the court where the last match had just finished.
“Ugh,” he muttered.
Chiaki was there.
“Woah, this is the match of destiny! Ougi, Chiaki’s getting pissed, so be careful!”
“... Yazaki, dammit.”
The whistle signaled the beginning of the match.
(But we’re supposed to be good friends,) Takaya thought, getting into position to receive the serve. (If he were someone I wasn’t particularly close to...but would I totally forget a good friend?)
He glared across the net at Chiaki, who must be 5’11" at least and had a beautifully-proportioned body which could well rival that of any model. The impression of coldness he gave, combined with his looks, was quite cool for his age, and Takaya could understand why he was popular with the girls. But, as he’d thought, they wouldn’t move within the same social circles.
Chiaki would stand out wherever he went...
(Could I really have forgotten him?)
Just then.
Chiaki suddenly stared right at him from across the net. Their eyes met. A jolt went through Takaya, and Chiaki—
Chiaki grinned at him.
(He...!)
“Ougi!”
He started at the sound of his name. The serve came flying straight at him.
“!”
He promptly received, but couldn’t control the ball. It flew back to the other side without going to the setter.
(Urgh. Not good.)
Free ball. The other team passed the ball to the setter in a smooth, precise move, and the setter lofted the ball up high toward the left.
On the left was...Chiaki!
“Watch out!”
“Two blockers to the left!”
A running jump. Chiaki’s upper body arched like a bow in mid-air, even higher than the block.
Too high!
Whack!
The spike shot the ball like a bullet to the ground at Takaya’s feet.
“!”
The ball rebounded violently from the floor.
No one could save it.
For an instant the gym was completely silent.
Yuzuru, acting as referee, was dumbfounded. He came back to himself after a moment and blew the whistle, and everyone else finally stirred.
“Woooah...!”
Takaya roused at length to the voices of admiration around him. Chiaki was looking at him nonchalantly, as if nothing of note had occurred.
And he grinned again.
(What the hell is with that guy?!)
It had been a spike of extraordinary height and power—a magnificent hit that not many even among the members of the volleyball team could have matched.
No ordinary person, this!
The match resumed. The other team received the serve and set it up for the offensive—back to Chiaki.
“Here you go, Chiaki!”
“All right!”
(Here it comes!)
He glared at Chiaki’s pose. Opening on the left. Another magnificent...
Spike!
“!”
It struck Takaya squarely on the shoulder. The ball rebounded hard, hit the rail of the net and slid off. Takaya, who had moved to receive the ball, stood flabbergasted. The heavy hit had smacked into his shoulder like lead, and it hurt.
Chiaki smirked at him again through the cheers. Takaya was taken aback.
(Is he targeting me?!)
Apparently he was. His spike had been aimed at Takaya on purpose.
(Asshole! What the hell is he trying to do?)
The match proceeded. The rotation swung back, and Chiaki and Takaya were about to come face-to-face again. Chiaki’s attack had more than enough height on the block, so his spikes were cutting through the defense as if it didn’t even exist. Chiaki gave him no quarter even after Takaya advanced to the left front defensive position.
Whack!
“!”
An unbelievably close hit. The spike from the six-feet-tall Chiaki struck Takaya smack-dab on the face.
“Ougi!”
Takaya hunched over on the floor, holding his face near his right eye. The other members of his team rushed up to him.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Ougi! Chiaki’s serious, man. He must be totally pissed. That’s why I told you not to go around saying weird things!”
“Scaaaaary!”
From the midst of his clamorous teammates Takaya looked at Chiaki out of his left eye.
Chiaki gazed back at him with a cold, thin smile. Pissed? No—rather, he was enjoying himself. He was actually amusing himself by tormenting Takaya with his spikes.
(Bastard!) Takaya seethed. (If he’s gonna jerk me around...!)
“... Taniguchi.”
“Huh?”
“When we get the ball next time, set it up for me. Open on the left.”
“Open on... Okay, but you’re not gonna...!”
Rage blazed brightly in Takaya’s eyes.
He no longer saw anything but Chiaki.
“You idiot, Takaya! Don’t take it seriously! You can’t be thinking about going for Chiaki!”
“Shut up! Just hurry up and get into position.”
“Ougiii... Lo-look, just calm down, okay?”
He didn’t reply. His blood was boiling, and no one could hold him back now.
The whistle sounded.
Serve by the other team. It drew a slow arc across the net, and he knew that it would be accurately intercepted by Taniguchi, the setter. Takaya yelled menacingly, “Over here! Taniguchi!”
“Augh, dammit! Fine, whatever!”
He lofted it high. Chiaki moved on the other side of the net. Takaya took a gigantic running leap.
“Ougi! Chiaki’s jumping!”
(Wonderful!)
And then he struck with all his might.
Takaya’s spike!
Chiaki’s block!
Bang!
The spike was reflected magnificently by Chiaki’s block, and hit the floor on his own side of the court.
“!”
Takaya’s eyes widened in shock as he landed.
(He stopped it!)
He glared at Chiaki, whose counterattack hadn’t even left him breathing hard. Chiaki was giving high-fives to his teammates with a relaxed smile.
(Bastard—!)
No one dared stand near Takaya, who was on the verge of exploding.
In the meantime, Chiaki stepped down from the rear guard position and stepped up to serve for side-out. His floater headed straight for Takaya. Since he’d known it was coming, he was well-prepared to receive it. He passed the ball to the setter cleanly.
“Taniguchi!”
“All right already, I got it!”
He lofted it. Takaya began to run towards it.
(This time...!)
There were two people blocking on the opposite team. They didn’t matter. He jumped with all his strength.
“You bastard!”
An attack aimed at Chiaki!
But Chiaki showed no signs of being concerned. In the next instant, everyone gasped. What the...!
Chiaki never even attempted to receive Takaya’s serve. He kicked it back carelessly.
“What...!?”
The ball leapt up and fell back into Takaya’s team’s court. It rolled on the floor. Everyone stared in stunned surprise.
“Wh...!”
Takaya’s patience snapped.
“...What the hell are you doing...?!”
The people around him jumped.
"Uh...Uh-oh. Ougi! Ougi-kun! Calm down!
“It-it’s just a joke, Ougi! Don’t take it seriously! Don’t take it—”
On the other side Chiaki was smiling his usual thin smile. Takaya saw it as a sneer.
“Bastard! You’re gonna pay for mocking me! I’m gonna tear you apart!”
“Woooah, Ougi!”
Taniguchi and the others held Takaya back in a confused mass as he sprung.
“You idiot! Stop it, Ougi!”
“Let go of me! Let me just hit that guy once!”
“That’s not a good idea, Ougi!”
“Chiaki, damn you, what the hell are you trying to do?!”
For a moment he gazed at Takaya shaking in the grip of his teammates before turning his back.
“Chiaki, you bastard!”
«What, you mad?»
Takaya suddenly stopped dead.
What?
That voice just now.
“Ougi, take a rest! You’re injured, right?”
“You’re out. Out!”
Takaya stopped struggling and reluctantly let Taniguchi and the others drag him out of the court. He remained quiet.
(Was that Chiaki’s voice I heard just now?)
It felt as if it had resounded directly within his mind.
(Was I hearing things? But that voice just now—I’m sure I...)
The sound of the whistle echoed in the gym.
“That short temper of yours hasn’t improved at all, huh?” Yuzuru said earnestly.
“...”
They were on the roof of the third-floor corridor. Yuzuru was seated against the fence. It was Fifth Period, Art. At Jouhoku High students had several choices: Fine Arts, Music, and Calligraphy. Takaya and Yuzuru had chosen Fine Arts, and today they were outside sketching.
Takaya held the sketchpad with a cross expression on his face.
“Not my fault. I just can’t stomach stuff like that.”
“Yeah, but you just got called into the principle’s office. Don’t make any more of a fuss, okay?”
“All right, all right already.”
While scrawling on the white sheet of the sketchpad, Takaya added, “But I am pissed. Chiaki, that bastard, drives me over the edge. What the hell is up with that guy?”
“Speaking of which, Takaya, people are saying that you have amnesia? You really don’t know Chiaki anymore?”
“Yeah, but...I don’t know what’s what anymore.”
Takaya threw down the pencil and leaned back against the fence.
“I guess you can put it that way, or maybe I never did in the first place. People’s memories are pretty unreliable things, huh?”
“I guess so.”
“But,” Takaya protested, leaning forward, “I just don’t remember being friends with that guy at all. Were we really friends?”
“You were pretty close.”
“Even more than us?”
“I don’t know.” Yuzuru smoothly sketched a tree in the courtyard on his sheet. “I don’t know Chiaki that well, but your auras are similar.”
(Similar?)
Me and Chiaki?
“On the one hand, he’s an honors student, and the teachers adore him. On the other hand, for some strange reason I just feel that you guys get along.”
“...”
“It’s so strange that you’d forget Chiaki, of all things. But you should go to the hospital and get examined in any case, Takaya. You may not have any external injuries, but it’d be bad if there were something going on with your head.”
“... Yeah.” He nodded agreement, but it was rather absent-mindedly. He still had no memories of Chiaki at all, but Yuzuru wouldn’t be mistaken.
(I guess I can’t help thinking about this and that...)
He looked up at the clear sky.
The voices of several students approached them from the northern school building. They appeared to be first-year students returning to their classrooms from a Biology class that had ended early.
“Ah, Narita-senpai!”
A short boy in their midst saw Yuzuru and rushed over.
“Oh hi, Hatayama.”
“Senpai, are you drawing? Your elective is Fine Arts, right?”
“Yeah. You’re coming from Biology?”
“Yes. We had slides today.”
The young man called Hatayama was a junior to Yuzuru in the school band. His short build gave him an air of delicacy, and he had chestnut-colored hair. (Yuzuru also had brown hair, but Hatayama’s hair actually approached blond.)
Taking no notice of Takaya, who was looking at him curiously, Hatayama said to Yuzuru, “We had today off for band, right? Are you coming to practice at lunch tomorrow?”
“Probably, since I have to deliver some copies of the music tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Hatayama replied, and smiled. “Then see you tomorrow, Narita-senpai.”
And as if he had just noticed Takaya, Hatayama bowed towards him apologetically and went chasing after his friends.
“Who’s he?” Takaya asked Yuzuru.
“A first-year transfer student. You know his name’s Hatayama, right? He just got into the band last week, but he’s really good. Though his part’s different...”
“Hmm...”
“He’s half Japanese. He said that his mother is English.”
“Oh, really...?”
True enough, his face didn’t look entirely Japanese. Takaya was bad with foreign countries.
“He must be an ace at English, then. Maybe I should ask him to teach me.”
“But your Japanese-English is perfect.”
“Well, excuuuse me!”
“You should do your own homework once in a while.”
The bell chimed.
Everything seemed peaceful here at Jouhoku High this early afternoon.
